


Goodbye

by Ryuuto



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Death, Dark, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuuto/pseuds/Ryuuto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave visits the graveyard to pay his respects, and to give his final farewells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I just needed to write something like this?

Dave stood before the gravestone with an impassive expression. It was a little chilly that November day, forcing him to wear at least a light jacket if he wanted to be comfortable. The sky was as grey as John without a derpy smile on his face. Maybe as grey as the skin of the trolls, but a couple shades lighter. As he stared down at the grave, he couldn't help noticing that he'd soon need to clean it up a little. Dave knew that he couldn't keep that up forever, but he wanted to do it for as long as possible, for as long as at least _someone_ remembered or cared. Maybe it was a new kind of unnecessary torture he was putting himself through, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He readjusted his shades, and placed a hand lightly on the cold, unforgivably grey stone. His pale hand would fast lose the heat it had gained while in his pocket, but it seemed like a small and insignificant sacrifice. Dave then absently traced the characters carved into the stone, characters he was intimately familiar with.

It was the same sort of thing anybody would find on a grave. Here lies such and such, born on this day and year, and died on that day and year. Maybe a phrase like "beloved son" or something. This one was a little different. The name read "Bro Strider," Dave making sure that they used his brother's nickname instead of his real name. The message he had chosen was simple and meaningful, just like all the other graves. All it said was, "My older brother." That was all that needed to be said, really. It just summed up everything Dave associated with him. Irony, coolness, music, it all lead back to his older brother. They were all things he had learned from him.

The blond sat down, not caring in the slightest if he would get grass stains. He muttered a soft greeting, which was caught on the breeze like a thief stealing it away to wherever his bro's spirit was. Dave didn't say much after that, letting his thoughts wander wherever they pleased. Mostly, he just remembered and reminisced on what had happened in the past, way before Bro's death.

He remembered when he was four or five he had broken his right arm pretty badly, landing it in a cast for several agonizing months. Agonizing because it meant that he'd need to take everything at so slow of a pace he was sure that if he was a hare, the tortoise would've made it around the world at least eight times before he even left the goddamn starting line. There was somewhat of a perk to having a broken arm. Bro taught him how to use his left hand to write at first. Dave smirked microscopically at that. His handwriting had been more illegible than a doctor with a hangover for the first month. When he finally got it down to something like a piece of calligraphic artwork, even in cursive, Bro had taken him out for ice cream. While the excuse was so Dave could get more practice eating with his left hand, he somehow knew that it was a subtle gesture of pride and affection.

It was the memories like that he remembered the most, other than Bro's heart-stopping coolness. It had to be the ultimate form of irony that it was only after his brother's death that Dave finally came to terms that he was jealous and a little angry with him, but that never meant he didn't love him. A tiny part of him with what sounded like Jade's voice wished that he had said that to Bro even once, but Dave knew that he knew. Honestly, it hadn't needed to be spoken aloud. They knew each other too well that there were times that words didn't need to be uttered.

That day, his mind decided to go from happy and snap to something decidedly more sad. The funeral and the days after that. Dave couldn't recall much about the service, being in shock during it and for a few days afterward. He vaguely remembered saying his last words to Bro, how he was a pretty good brother, and having to pause more than a couple times to compose himself. Dave didn't cry at the funeral. He fought that feeling with tooth and nail and probably with some seriously scalding words.

He never entered Bro's room afterward, either. He remembered gathering all of the puppets in their apartment and putting them all in various places in his brother's room, except for Lil Cal. Dave had left him next to the picture of the Strider siblings near the TV stand in the living room. Bro's shades and hat were the only items that stayed in Dave's room, like he was trying to keep something to remind him that Bro had been in his life and wasn't some dream or something.

Dave would have a hard time sleeping at night, and wouldn't go into school until the social worker had sorted everything out. He figured he would be placed either in foster care or the Lalondes would take him in, since they were as close to kin as he was going to get. Luckily, he would be going with the latter choice. Before then, he was in that apartment all on his own, smothered by the raw memories he would be swept away in like a tiny bird in a maelstrom of pure emotion.

One night, it overwhelmed him to the point that it became hard to breathe. The blond teen had turned to his side, and curled in himself, trying to keep it in and stay strong. But the tears came down in such a fury he was sure that he'd drown in them. Dave clearly remembered a distinct pain in his chest that wracked his entire body, that even left his ribs aching. He had choked on air and sobs, the bitter grief and sorrow almost completely shattering him that night. For the first time, Dave felt as lost and alone like a little kid at his first day of kindergarten. He had wanted to scream, to somehow relieve the tension that was knotted so firmly where his heart was, but he could hardly move, caught in the throes of pure, agonizing grief.

When the blond was sure that his body was done with trying to kill himself, he had laid in bed trying to catch his breath. Then, he went to the bathroom to clean his face and drink some water. When Dave returned to bed, it was the first night since the funeral that he had slept so soundly. It wouldn't be until he hit college that he would finally be over his brother's death, would stop expecting Bro to somehow materialize out of the shadows or thin air like he used to. It would also take a few stubborn as hell friends to remind him that he didn't need to keep shouldering it on his own, that it was totally cool and okay to just release it all with them if he needed to.

Dave shuddered, brought out of those thoughts with the jarring realization that it was early evening and he couldn't feel his ass or legs he had been sitting for so long. He was pretty sure they had froze right off, too, along with his nose and ears. The young man stood up, brushing off his pants and bringing his jacket closer to his body. He gave the grave a meaningful glance, took a deep breath, and finally said what he had been meaning to say, but never could, ever since he was 13.

"Bye, Bro."


End file.
